


Through the Scattered Remains, We Endure

by AgentJoanneMills



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Camp Jupiter, Demigod AU, F/F, Reckless Gay Bean and Death Gay Bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24148048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentJoanneMills/pseuds/AgentJoanneMills
Summary: Scylla looks at her as if she knows what Raelle is thinking. She probably does; sometimes, Raelle thinks Scylla knows her better than Raelle knows herself.Alternatively:Camp Jupiter AU
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 26
Kudos: 270
Collections: Gays in Fort Salem





	Through the Scattered Remains, We Endure

**Author's Note:**

> *Recognizable elements belong to their respective owners.  
> **Merely a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement intended.

**prima nocte: abyssus abyssum invocat**

Raelle stands before the pit, a huge gaping hole that leads straight into the bowels of Tartarus, the deepest part of the Underworld that even the gods themselves fear. Whispers of unimaginable horrors and tendrils of unmatched terror curl up and reach her ears. The temperature has dropped considerably, right into a disturbing chill meant to unnerve and deter spirits.

Strangely enough, she doesn’t feel scared.

In fact, she feels nothing at all, except an indomitable rage.

No monster nor god will keep her here.

_No monster nor god will keep me from her._

She jumps without another thought.

****

_“She will be your downfall, Pontifex. And you her ruin.”_

_“You obviously don’t understand how wrong you are. Scylla is the one who gives me strength.” Raelle stands still in the middle of the hurricane. “And this is the last time anyone tries to take her away from me.”_

_A storm of lightning falls from high above._

****

“Raelle,” a deep voice behind her says. Raelle starts, whirling around, and sees a tall man clad in a grey three-piece suit. His black hair has streaks of silver, and despite how he looks like a regular Wall Street professional, there’s an intense aura of power emanating from him—an _otherness_ that cannot be hidden no matter how strong the Mist.

“Father.” She’s proud of how her voice remains even. “What are you doing here?”

Jupiter merely raises an eyebrow, his stormy eyes sparkling. “I see the camp has not been successful in instilling in you proper decorum.”

She shrugs. “Were you expecting otherwise?”

“Ah.” He regards Raelle as if she’s done something particularly fascinating, like a kitten doing tricks. It makes her want to puke, some kind of dread crawling down her spine. “Perhaps I set my hopes too high in that. If Lupa couldn’t do it during early training, well, I suppose no one can.”

“Abigail’s taking it as a challenge, actually.”

“Bellona’s spawn.” He hums. “I hear she’s become close to you, along with one of Mars’s.”

The statement surprises her. “How do you know that?” she can’t help but ask.

Her father’s lips tick up in a small smile. “Can’t a father keep tabs on his wayward daughter?”

“I suppose he can,” she says cautiously, guarded as she eyes him. They don’t often see each other; in fact, she can count on one hand the times she’s been in his presence, this instance included. He’s the King of Olympus, after all, and he’s too involved in celestial affairs to be what a regular father should be to his child.

Her reluctant response seems to increase his mirth. He tilts his head to the path towards his temple. “Come, walk with me.”

She swallows a sigh. “Okay.” She knows better than to refuse. Might as well appease him; he hasn’t done anything worth getting worked up over. Yet.

Raelle tries to walk a step behind her father to show respect; the Olympians are nothing if not vain, and Jupiter is especially prone to taking offence, regardless if it’s from his children or not. And yet her father simply stares back at her in challenge, the scent of ozone pervading the air, and she gets the clue.

So they stroll along the trail, side by side. She watches him from her peripheral vision. He seems content to bask in the silence, his hands clasped behind him. But there’s something lurking beneath his eyes.

Something that makes the hair on the back of her neck prickle on end.

When the Temple of Jupiter comes into view, she finally speaks. “There’s something wrong.”

His father slows down, but he doesn’t stop. Raelle mirrors his pace. He looks at her with a thoughtful frown. “Sometimes I forget how observant you are.”

He forgets a lot of things. They all do. It’s what the gods are good at. Raelle shoves the words and the resentment deep down her lungs. “My perspective is just vastly different from yours,” she manages to say.

“Indeed it is.” He stops, and so does she. Her father stares at her for several seconds. She fights the urge to fidget. “You are a child of Rome, Raelle, but more than that, you are mine. Destined for many a great thing, like your brothers and sisters before you.”

Ah, there’s the vanity. Their children are reflections of the glory of the gods. “Big shoes to fill,” she says.

Her father’s response is quick and sharp. “Not big enough for you.” She looks up, dumbfounded, but he just sends her a wry smile. “You have powers never before seen, Raelle. Powers beyond even the greatest heroes. You’ve done great things, worthy of songs. And you will do so much more.” He reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. “I believe in you.”

She grits her teeth, her jaw jumping. “Thank you,” she murmurs around the lump forming in her throat.

He grimaces, his hands back behind him. “I don’t think I deserve your thanks yet.”

There he is.

She smiles dryly at him. “I was wondering when you’ll finally get to the point.”

“Clever girl.” He shakes his head, glancing at his temple. She follows his gaze, but she sees nothing out of the ordinary. Darkness gathers above, and she can hear deafening claps of thunder.

“Father?” she prompts, careful, like she’s treading on broken glass.

“Trouble’s brewing,” is his reply. Raelle stills. “Something’s moving pawns across a board I cannot see. The Council is restless, feeling the shift too.” His eyes look unsettled, but there’s concern etched in their depths. It’s enough to worry Raelle herself.

Her father _never_ shows concern. He sees it as a weakness and goes to great lengths to keep it from view.

The fact that his tightly wound control is slipping does not bode well for anyone at all, mortal or otherwise.

“You’re thinking war, then?”

The implications are alarming, but her father’s next words are even more so. “Or something worse.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re my daughter,” he says. “And you have to step up to what that entails.”

Raelle stiffens. A heavy weight drops in her stomach.

Her father’s voice is deep, leaking with the echo of a fraction of his power. “When the time comes to take up arms—and it _will_ come—you have to be ready to lead Rome to victory.” He shoots her a small smile. “No pressure, though.”

And then with that, he’s gone.

****

When Raelle gets back to her room, there’s a package waiting for her. She sighs but warily opens it, dumping its contents on the bed.

A golden pen and a golden ring tumble out.

She picks up the pen first, clicks it once, and nearly drops it when it transforms into an Imperial gold sword. She swings, and it nearly croons in her grasp, sharp and delighted. Wondering how to turn it back, she flicks it curiously, tries a manoeuvre. When she swipes at the hilt, she nearly drops it again as it shrinks back into pen form.

“Cool.”

She considers the ring next. It’s a simple gold band, smooth and shiny. There is an inscription along the inner side: _ut Roma cadit, sic omnis terra_.

As Rome falls, so falls the whole world.

Raelle cannot help but let out a slightly delirious laugh. “Yeah, no pressure, Dad.”

She puts the ring on. Nothing happens. She twists it once, twice, and it erupts into a polished gold shield.

She studies the surface and can’t help but wince. There in front is a lightning bolt, the symbol of Jupiter, loud and mighty. Along the outer edge are engravings of Raelle’s past battles: against petty monsters, against primordial beasts.

Against Jupiter’s own father.

“No pressure at all.”

****

_“I like how my name sounds when you say it.”_

_Raelle smiles. “You’re already my girlfriend, you don’t have to try so hard.”_

_“Oh my gods, shut up.” Scylla rolls her eyes but laughs, playfully pushing her away. Raelle catches her hand and keeps it on her chest. “You are the worst.”_

_“I try.”_

_“And an idiot.”_

_“Yeah,” Raelle agrees, kissing Scylla’s hand, “but I’m yours.”_

_Scylla laughs again, and Raelle steals the taste right from her mouth._

****

Scylla looks unnaturally pale, seated on a tree stump. As Raelle hurries to her, she notices that she’s breathing too quickly as well. “Hey, you okay? They said Glory’s gonna pull through, thanks to you.”

Scylla turns to her, startled. “What?” Her forehead is beaded with sweat, and when Raelle takes her hand, it’s clammy.

“What happened?” Raelle looks over her, and worry creeps within her veins; up close, Scylla’s face is sickly white and a green hue shines around her eyes.

“I-I don’t—”

The worry ignites and turns into panic, and Raelle fights against the urge to tremble. Scylla needs steady hands and a calm head right now. “Okay, okay, let’s get you looked over, okay?” She puts her hand on Scylla’s back to guide her up, but the cotton beneath her fingers is much too wet and much too sticky to be from sweat.

Bile rises up her throat. “What the fuck.” Taking a fortifying breath, she shifts to look behind Scylla, and sure enough, her shirt is drenched with blood.

The dread she felt earlier when they pulled Glory and the others out of the rubble returns tenfold. Now that Raelle’s really looking, she sees that the blood is everywhere—under Scylla’s fingernails, across her clavicle, dripping on the stump she’s sitting on.

It makes her stomach churn. “Hey, hey, Scyl, stay with me,” she says, her voice about as steady as her heartbeat, which is to say, not at all.

Scylla’s eyes are unfocused, the blues muted and missing their usual glimmer. She blinks slowly, as if she’s not really registering anything, and Raelle has just enough time to brace herself to catch her as Scylla tips forward and promptly passes out.

****

“There’s a laceration at the back of her head, probably from the talons of the dracaena. She’s lost a lot of blood.” Adil’s voice is low and calm, as if trying to prevent Raelle from lashing out. It’s sweet, but also awfully useless, because wrath is already pooling in her chest. “We’ve cleaned up and sutured the wound and fed her ambrosia too. She’s resting now, and will probably stay asleep for a few days.”

Raelle nods sharply, not trusting herself not to explode. She’s staring resolutely at the floor.

Tally rubs her back, soothing. It is Abigail who asks, “Are visitors allowed?”

“Yes,” Adil confirms. “Just not too loud.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Hey,” Tally says, bumping her elbow. Raelle looks up, and her eyes are kind. Tally gives a small smile, tilting her head to the doors of the infirmary. “Go on in. She needs you.”

 _Needs_.

Raelle clenches her hands at the word.

Scylla needed her too, earlier, but she’s not there.

She won’t fail her now.

She stands, a bit shakily, though her friends thankfully ignore it. She murmurs a soft _thanks_ to Adil before going past him and heading in.

Scylla looks peaceful under the thin blanket. Her complexion’s better, some colour coming back, though it’s still a bit too pale for Raelle’s comfort. She quietly places a chair by the bedside, taking Scylla’s hand as she settles down.

“You scared me back there, Scyl,” she says, her voice raspy. “Real reckless of you, worrying me like that.”

It guts her, realising too late that Scylla has been hurt. She replays the events in her mind, thinking when Scylla could have been attacked. It must have been when she’s too busy creating the tornado, diverting most of the _pyrausta_ swarm.

 _Gods_ , she should have paid closer attention.

“Sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.” She raises Scylla’s hand to her lips. “It won’t happen again.”

Her eyes burn with determined fury, and lightning flashes through the sunny day.

****

It’s not technically allowed, but it’s not explicitly forbidden either, and Raelle thrives on straddling the line between enforcing rules and breaking them. So she finds herself donning her golden armour and slipping on the purple cloak of _Praetor_.

She whistles and waits for her pegasus, Veritas, to arrive. It takes but a few seconds before he’s landing before her. She’s about to climb when she catches someone approaching.

“Going somewhere?” Tally asks conversationally.

“Personal trip.” Raelle shrugs. “Just hunting.”

“Anything fun?”

“Probably. Depends.”

“Does Anacostia know?”

“Anacostia does not command me.”

Abigail scoffs. “Figured.”

“Look.” Raelle sighs. “Is there any point to this? You know you can’t stop me.”

Abigail’s jaw clenches, and Raelle expects a fight. She’s understandably confused when Abigail just tosses her a coin.

Raelle catches it automatically. It’s a bronze coin, etched with the symbol of Minerva. She’s seen Libba lay down traps with it during war games.

Realisation dawns, and she blows out a harsh exhale.

“Use that,” Abigail says, voice hollow. “She’d have wanted it to serve its purpose.”

Raelle nods once, turning to her pegasus.

“And Raelle?”

She looks back. “Yeah?”

Abigail’s gaze is dark and inscrutable. “Ruin them.”

Raelle grins.

****

When she comes back, days later, she sends the dracaena’s pelt to Minerva’s other children, for them to use as they see fit.

Scylla is awake, though still recuperating. Raelle hands her a blade, with the hilt made from the dracaena’s claw, tougher than ivory.

“Spoils of the hunt,” Raelle says as Scylla studies the gift. “Figured you’d appreciate it.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“You like it?”

“I love it.” Scylla’s eyes find hers, and relief settles upon Raelle’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Scylla eyes her curiously. “What are you sorry for?”

“I wasn’t there to—” She grits her teeth. It won’t do to be furious at herself now, but she can’t help it. “I didn’t even know you were hurt until you’re literally collapsing.”

Raelle hasn’t given herself time to process that image, to truly wrap herself around what could have happened. If she did, she’d surely have gone mad, and she won’t have been able to go after the ones who orchestrated the attack.

But now that the rush of the hunt is fading, and Scylla is _whole_ and _safe_ and _here_ , the thoughts she’s refused to think come roaring back to the surface.

This time, she’s the one who breaks, and Scylla’s arms catch her.

****

_There is something unquestionably ancient with her connection to Scylla, like it thrums with the essence of the cosmos itself. Its radiance hums between them like a tangible thing, spinning around like a timeless love song._

_Scylla’s skin is scorching against hers, and her lips taste hot and sweet, and when their tongues meet, Raelle twists her fingers in response. Scylla writhes, and Raelle watches her with fascination; she wants to see, wants to remember every second of this small pocket of time, and stretch it right into eternity._

_When Scylla comes, Raelle thinks that she’s more beautiful than Elysium could ever hope to be._

****

“A child of Nepture, named after her father’s olden lover who was then scorned and cursed by his wife.” Raelle shakes her head, torn between laughter and disbelief. “That’s messed up.”

“Poetic irony.” Scylla shrugs. “My mother thought my father would, ah, appreciate it.”

“And does he?”

“Jury’s still out.”

“What does his wife think about it?”

“Salacia is . . . She’s complicated.” Scylla smiles wryly. “But it comes with the territory. She’s a bit prickly, but that can be expected out of anyone whose spouse continues to be unfaithful, deity or not.”

“That’s not your fault though,” Raelle protests. “She can’t blame you for that.”

“No. But do you say that to _your_ stepmom?”

“Ah.”

“I’m just saying, Salacia isn’t perfect, but at least she tries. We actually get along not too badly, whenever I go down the sea palace.”

It still stumps Raelle whenever she’s reminded that Scylla actually talks to her stepmother. It’s just . . . such a foreign concept to her, making nice with her own father’s celestial wife. She can’t imagine ever willingly going to Olympus to meet Juno and like . . . _talk_ to her. The thought alone is enough to make her shudder.

Scylla looks at her as if she knows what Raelle is thinking. She probably does; sometimes, Raelle thinks Scylla knows her better than Raelle knows herself. “She’s . . . lonely, I think,” Scylla says of her stepmother. “My half-siblings may live underwater, but they ever rarely stay.”

“The sea _is_ enormous,” Raelle says reasonably.

“Makes it all the lonelier.” Scylla stares at the sky. “Did you know she used to play games with me? She taught me all sorts of brain exercises—memory, observation, deduction—everything that served as the groundwork for the skills I would need if I were to survive as a child of Rome. So when the time came for me to train with Lupa, I would be ready. And I was.”

“It’s not typical for a god’s wife to care for her husband’s child with a mortal,” Raelle says. “She must be truly fond of you.”

“Her Roman side, perhaps. Not so much the Greek.” Scylla shakes her head. “That first meeting with her Greek form was . . . interesting.”

Raelle thinks back to moments she met her father as Zeus. She comes up blank, which is just as well. It is said that Zeus is far more volatile than Jupiter. More unpredictable. More fickle.

She probably would have been smote long ago, were she to meet him, what with her tendency to piss her father off.

“I can imagine you as a Greek deity, though. You have that classic beauty,” Raelle says, and her smile grows at the delicate blush that blooms on Scylla’s cheeks.

****

_“Please. You know I’ll do anything for you.”_

_“Do not make promises you can’t keep.”_

_“I fully intend to keep all the promises I make you, actually. No matter the cost. I will cross the River Styx itself if you ask me to. I will turn my back on everything I’ve known if it meant I get to stay beside you.”_

_“I will never ask that of you.” Scylla is as serious as can be._

_Raelle smiles. “Now who’s making promises she can’t keep?”_

****

When she gets to the stables, a man is waiting for her. “Raelle Collar,” he says by way of greeting. He’s wearing summer clothes, like he’s just about to go on a stroll on Sta. Monica, the light colours providing nice contrast to his sun-tanned skin. He’s holding a fishing rod, and when Raelle squints through the Mist, she can see it shimmer into a huge trident.

This is the one meeting she doesn’t expect without her girlfriend by her side.

“That’s me.” Her voice comes out high and weedy, and Raelle clears her throat. “Lord Neptune. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m sure it is.” Neptune seems amused. Raelle tries not to show her unease; amusement from the gods often lead to horrible things. “Consul to demigods and praetor of the Twelfth Legion of Rome. A true hero, are you not?”

That is a very loaded question. “I try to be a true person, first,” she says, like an idiot.

“They say you’re trustworthy—”

“Who’s _they_?” she interrupts, wincing as she does so, but Neptune doesn’t react, continuing as if she didn’t dare speak over a god. Who also happens to be her girlfriend’s father.

This is going terribly.

“—though incredibly reckless with your own life. Dropping everything without a second thought. Always coming to your friends’ rescue, no matter the risks.” His green eyes are as endless as the sea. “They say you would rather go to the Underworld yourself than let harm come to them.”

Raelle doesn’t know where he’s gotten all this. “I’m sure the tales of my exploits have been greatly exaggerated,” she says. “They think they know more than they do.”

“Such humility.” He shakes his head. “Well at least I know something you didn’t get from your father.”

She winces again, but doesn’t offer any response. What can she say to that? _Thank you, I’m glad I’m not as pompous as my dad?_

“Do you know what I think?” Neptune asks, but it’s clearly rhetorical. “I think if the gods had a fraction of your selflessness, this world would have been a better place.”

That’s . . . not something she expects, and the surprise must have shown quite clearly on her face, for his lips quirk up in a quick smile.

“Do you know how my wife and Scylla have come to be close to each other?” She shakes her head. “Scylla watched as her mother died, who, in her last moments, called upon Salacia herself. It was unheard of, for a mortal to summon a goddess, but then there was always something special in that bloodline. It’s why I couldn’t stay away.”

 _Yeah, neither could I,_ Raelle thinks, but she doesn’t say that out loud. She doesn’t have to. There’s a gleam in Neptune’s eyes that tells her he understands her anyway.

“Scylla is exceptional, as I’m sure you know. Even my wife saw her potential, her heart, and that is no small feat.”

Raelle just nods.

“My brothers and I—” Neptune sighs. “I know we have our faults. We pass these faults to our children, and add to that the fallibility of their mortal blood . . . well. I’m sure you’ve seen it yourself, how demigods are with their fatal flaws.”

Unfortunately, she has. And she is also finally seeing where this conversation is going.

“My children, far and few in-between as they were these past few centuries, had always shared one fatal flaw. They all possessed such strong personal loyalty, and were so unflinchingly devoted, and their sacrifices often came with much too high a cost.” He fixes her with that sea-green stare. “Do you understand?”

Raelle pushes through the dryness in her throat. “I do.”

“I know it’s asking for a lot. But something’s brewing, and I cannot afford any missteps,” he says. “So tell me, Child of Jupiter, will you extend the same protection you’ve given to your friends to my daughter?”

“Honestly, Lord Neptune,” she begins, meeting his gaze with a certainty as unshakable as her father’s command, “the Tiber would sooner divert its course than I allow harm to come to her.”

Neptune studies her and she stands before him with reckless resolve. She doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but then he seems to find it, for he grins and his eyes crinkle in the corners, oh, that’s _Scylla’s_ grin. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”

****

_“This one will live with pain much too great for her spirit.”_

_“This one will love with a heart too battered for her body.”_

_“This one will . . . This one will . . .”_

_“This one will weave her own Fate and rewrite her destiny.”_

****

Their first meeting is a bit too dramatic for Raelle’s tastes.

She is on a quest with Abigail and Tally, some silly affair that really shouldn’t require this much of an attention. After the War, with a capital W, Raelle has found these things to be too trite and more than a little redundant, with the stakes a little too low. It’s like having a picnic after going on a banquet with only poison on the menu.

But gods will be gods, and so they send their children on quests that are nothing but silly little excursions specifically designed in pursuit of stroking their egos. Raelle doesn’t want any part of it. She never has, and she never will, but try as she might to avoid it, she can’t.

And so she finds herself in Portland, and her team has been doing quite well until something detonates and screaming resounds, as it does on a normal Tuesday. There’s a scuffle and some curses and then they’re running for their lives like usual.

Soon enough—because of course there are traps laid down that they triggered when they passed through the forest earlier—they get cornered, with the host of fire monsters in front and a high cliff that drops right into the Pacific Ocean behind them.

Flame bursts out from between the trees, and Raelle ducks in time to avoid becoming a blonde kebab. Abigail is blocking a volley of fire balls with her shield, but the heat’s clearly getting to her. Tally is skewering as many of the monsters as she can with her javelin, but soon she’s going to be overwhelmed, because the damn things just won’t stop coming.

 _Screw this_ , Raelle thinks, and then she calls down a flash of lightning.

****

The thing with lightning is it’s not technically controllable. Even a child of Jupiter who summons it could only hope that it hits the intended target.

Luckily for Raelle, it does this time, and their foes are sufficiently fried for now. _Thanks, Dad._

Unluckily, however, the force of lightning is a bit too much, and the cliff on which they’re standing on gives with a deafening crack.

 _Really, thanks, Dad,_ she thinks, as she and her team careen down towards the Pacific.

She can almost hear her father sigh.

****

She summons air to cushion their fall or at least slow them down, but it’s a struggle when there are three bodies to think about. Her power feels clunky too, this close to the realm of Neptune, somewhere she definitely isn’t welcome.

She hopes he has some hospitality for the children of Bellona and Mars, at least.

The waves look too much like spikes the closer they get, so maybe not.

She’s calculating how much more air she can command, if only to spare Abigail and Tally a painful touchdown, but she doesn’t finish before something erupts from the bottom of the sea.

Gigantic waves whirl and spin towards them, enveloping them and crystallising to cradle their bodies. They are gently lowered and guided to a hidden alcove a few metres away from the empty beach.

Abigail and Tally catch their breaths, whilst Raelle watches as a figure emerges from the centre of the waves. It’s a girl with short dark hair and a face straight out of a renaissance painting. Raelle finds it ironic that she’s the one breathless now.

“Are you all right?” the girl says, her voice sweet like wind chimes, and Raelle wonders if she has siren’s blood.

“We’re fine.” It’s Abigail who answers. “Thanks for the save.”

“Yeah, that was cool!” Tally’s enthusiasm is infectious, and even the girl is not immune, it seems. “You’re like”—she gestures with her hand—“whoosh! And then”—she mimes an explosion—“bam! Totally awesome!”

The girl laughs, and _oh shit_ , Raelle really is doomed. That sound cannot be coming from a mortal. “Thanks. Glad I was in time.”

“We’re glad too!” Tally walks closer, offering her hand. “I’m Tally, by the way. These are Abigail and Raelle.”

The girl’s eyes widen. She stares at Raelle, and Raelle shifts on her feet, feeling suddenly awkward. “Raelle Collar, the Pontifex?” she asks.

Raelle blinks. “I am Raelle,” she says. “Not a Pontifex though.” There’s no Pontifex in New Rome. There hasn’t been for a thousand years.

“You’re not?” The girl frowns, thoughtful. “But— Oh.” She mutters something under her breath, and it suspiciously sounds like ‘it hasn’t happened yet’. That might be just the loud crashing of the waves though.

“I’m sorry, who are you? I mean, how do you know me?”

The girl bites her lip, studying her. She looks wary but hopeful at the same time. She sends a quick glance at both Abigail and Tally, who have shifted their stance at her silence, before settling her gaze back on Raelle.

Finally, she sighs. She flicks her wrist, and waves crest high behind her. “Lupa has sent me to find Camp Jupiter. But before that, I must aid you and prove my worth.” The waves fall, not one drop landing on her. “My name is Scylla, daughter of Neptune.”

****

_Something old, something borrowed, something blue._

_Her love is old, her life is borrowed, her eyes are blue._

_Thunder claps and the storm rages on._

****

**prima luce: ecce filia maris**

She finds Scylla by a drakon carcass, clutching a singed blanket around herself. She’s staring at Raelle as she approaches, her eyes a haunted blue, like the sea in the middle of a storm. There’s blood streaked on her face, splattered on her arms. Dirt and grime and soot make a canvas out of her clothes.

Raelle thinks she’s never seen her as beautiful as this.

Something screeches on her left. Raelle raises her Imperial gold sword and swings it in a vicious arc. The monster’s essence swirls around her, but her gaze never leaves Scylla.

She stalks closer, and Scylla doesn’t move. Merely waiting. Merely watching.

Raelle stops right in front of her, hardly a foot apart. She thumbs at the hilt until her sword becomes a simple pen, then stashes it in her pocket.

She reaches out, cups Scylla’s cheek. She’s warm beneath her touch. Solid.

Real.

She feels rather than hear Scylla’s stuttered breath. “I-I— You’re here.” Disbelief colours her tone, but hope persists, patiently entwining with each syllable.

“I am,” she confirms, simple but sure.

“Y-You’re not supposed to be,” Scylla says, brokenly. Her eyes are flitting across Raelle’s face, as if for the first time, it registers that Raelle is _indeed_ stood before her. She’s not a mirage. Not an illusion. Raelle understands the feeling all too well. “I-I’m not— You’re supposed to be _safe_.”

“Safety means nothing without you,” Raelle says softly. “Did you really think there’s a force on either heaven or earth that can stop me from going after you?”

“I—” Scylla swallows. “The rules— The prophecy—”

“I love you.” Raelle’s voice is calm and steady, and Scylla’s eyes are glistening blues. “I’ve been in love with you for so long that I don’t remember how it is to not be. And I don’t want to remember that at all. I don’t care about rules or about supposed-to-be’s, Scylla. Where you go, I go, and if you insist on going places where you don’t want me to be, then tough luck, because I _will_ break all the laws of gods and men to be with you.”

Scylla inhales sharply, and that is the fissure that breaks and splits her apart. She falls against Raelle, and Raelle catches her, her arms banding around Scylla with no intention of ever letting go.

In the distance, the Fates begin to sing.

**Author's Note:**

> Latin translations:
> 
>   * _prima nocte_ “first night”
>   * _abyssus abyssum invocat_ “deep calleth unto deep”
>   * _prima luce_ “at first light”
>   * _ecce filia maris_ “behold the daughter of the sea”
> camp jupiter is a lot harder for me to write for, probably because i didn’t grow up there the way i did in camp half-blood. nothing’s linear about this narrative, so there might be some confusion too. sorry!  
>    
>  Come yell at me or something on [Tumblr](http://agentjoannemills.tumblr.com/ask) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/agentjoannemil1).  
>  Feedback is much appreciated; feelings fuel everything! :))



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